Only So Deep
by ChangeEverything4078
Summary: There are only so many times people can be hurt, and only so deep people can be cut, before they give up. Is it too late for Bella Swan, or will playful, understanding Edward Cullen be able to heal her wounds - despite a line clearly drawn between them?
1. Chapter 1

The classroom was empty and dark when I arrived, but the door was open, so I switched on the fluorescent lights and found a desk. After a few minutes of staring at my saxophone in silence, I lay my head on the desk, wishing I had had enough time this morning for another cup of tea. Mondays were always the worst, because it meant that I was just beginning to come to terms with the way I spent my weekend – namely thinking about _him,_ and wishing he were still here. I couldn't help it.

I looked up when I heard the sound of shoes in the doorway, and my half-hearted gaze was met with the smile of someone I had never seen before – but already looked forward to seeing every day. My new teacher was young, barely a few years older than myself, and had the sunniest smile I had ever seen. I rose from the desk and extended my hand, offering him a small smile in greeting.

"Hello, I'm Edward Cullen," he introduced himself, grasping my hand firmly. His hands were warm and smooth, and I nearly cried from the loss when he let go.

"Let's get started, shall we?" He asked, opening his own case and assembling the instrument inside. I did the same, gently placing the reed on my tongue while I worked.

"You'll want to take it deeper than that," he remarked casually – too casually – with a glint in his eye. I nearly swallowed the reed in shock, and turned a bright shade of pink. He chuckled, and pulled up a chair next to mine.

"So. The saxophone – you've played clarinet, correct?" I nodded, and he continued. "Similar, but not quite the same. The fingering is slightly different, and you'll want to take the mouthpiece in farther when you're playing, otherwise your notes will squeak, if you can even hit them. Now, lets get this tuned, shall we?" He instructed me on which notes to play, and mimicked them, adjusting the mouthpieces accordingly.

"Hear the difference? Now see, I'm going to pull out a bit, you go a bit deeper, and that should sound about right." I nodded, and continued tuning, but without heart. I was far too busy being distracted by the man immediately to my left.

After tuning, Mr. Cullen began to instruct me on fingering, and I had to fight back a blush. He positioned my fingers appropriately, and then placed his hands directly over mine as I played. Every time my fingers would leave a key too far, he would gently push them back into place, and my breath would catch – reflecting in the slightest of squeaks from my instrument.

"Relax your mouth. I can tell already that you're one of those people that tense up when you're frustrated, and then just explode. Relax." He had that glint in his eye again. This gorgeous, sunny, playful man knew exactly what his words, and his pale forearms were doing to me – and he was enjoying each and every moment of it, despite the fact that we had only been acquainted and hour and a half ago. I had always been envious of people like that; they could walk into a room and make anyone feel comfortable. While I could handle social interactions, I'd be much happier to avoid them altogether – but people like him thrived on them.

"Well, until tomorrow then, kiddo?" Mr. Cullen remarked, rising and glancing at the clock. School would start in about ten minutes. In that instant, I rescinded every time I had wished for a "normal" high school experience. As a senior, talent aside, I had always resented my instrument lessons before school. My mother had insisted back in Phoenix, and Charlie wasn't one to go against the grain. First, it was piano; when I showed promise at that, violin, clarinet after that, and finally saxophone. I complained, but I knew this was my only shot at paying for college. I had the grades, but I needed _– needed – _something to convince them that I was worth the scholarships too. Besides…even with the grades, Harvard didn't accept just anybody.

I finished packing up my belongings, and adjusted my sweater. I put on my "social butterfly face," and turned to face Mr. Cullen.

"Thank you very much for this morning. Please, don't hesitate to ask if I can do something for you – coffee, or whatever you would prefer. Really, I appreciate this." I finished with a prize-winning smile. He grinned back, and waved his hand.

"Please, it's a pleasure. I wish more of my students were like you." He gave me a friendly, cursory glace, and my breath caught. Holy shit… what was this man?

After my last class, I rushed out of the building, eager to get home. Home where, despite Charlie and his godforsaken habit of agreeing with my mother, I was allowed to be myself for just a little while.


	2. Chapter 2

The next two weeks flew by in a similar fashion – lessons before school with a man who was taking up my thoughts at an exponentially increasing rate, school, and home again, where I was beginning to drown in my college applications. The end of September was fast approaching, and with it, my doom – I mean, auditions. But honestly, what's the difference? After a too-short weekend of doing not much more than sleeping, I woke up Monday morning. Sick.

Everything ached. My arms, my legs, my chest, my head; I felt like I had been run over by a truck. On top of that, my voice was almost gone, and I was sniffling like a faucet had been opened behind my sinuses.

"If you're not suffering, you're not doing it right…" I muttered to myself, before rolling out of bed and grabbing my towel. After a brief shower, I threw on a pair of jeans and an oversized sweater, too fatigued to be bother with effort. I forwent makeup for the day and allowed my hair to curl as it desired, unwilling to straighten it for the day. It would just have to do.

Charlie had already left by the time I made it downstairs, so I simply poured myself a travel mug of coffee, grabbed my bag and case, and left for school. I beat Mr. Cullen to lessons, a tradition fast in the making, and assumed my usual position of lying comatose in one of the desks. He blustered in a few minutes later, arms full of papers and hair a tousled mess. For such a happy person, he was incredibly disorganized.

"Morning sunshine!" He greeted me cheerfully, and I simply groaned in response, barely lifting my head. It throbbed every time I did.

"Come on, you can do it, I know it's early…" he coaxed, unaware of the infernal virus killing me slowly as we spoke. Grumbling, I stood and began to assemble my saxophone. He dragged two chairs into the center of the room, and I walked towards the one closest to me.

"Are you okay kiddo?" Mr. Cullen asked, concerned, when I swayed on my feet. I didn't answer – everything was tipping sideways, and blurring together. I vaguely remember falling, but after that the first thing I can recall is laying on the floor, with strong arms supporting my torso. I took a slow breath, and my senses were immediately assuaged with the heavenly scent of his cologne, causing another wave of lightheadedness to hit me.

"Easy there hun, take it easy. You can't be coming to school like this! Did you drive here?" I was afraid that I would be unable to form a coherent sentence, so I gave him a weak thumbs-up.

"Well, you're not driving home like this. Come on, I'm taking you home. Did you really think you'd make it through the whole day like this?" I shrugged, my shoulder bumping against his torso. He sighed, actually sounding annoyed, and gently propped me up.

"Can you stand?" He asked. I tried to push myself up, but was immediately overcome with dizziness again, and fell back. With another small sigh, he knelt down and scooped me up as if I weighed no more than a backpack. I made a small noise of protest, and he shot me a dirty look. I had never seen this side of my cheerful teacher. He carried me to his car, a small, silver Volvo parked in the teacher's lot, and gingerly placed me in the passenger side seat. I moaned as my body jolted, and he placed his hand on my shoulder comfortingly.

"You really need to take better care of yourself…" he prodded, gently buckling my comatose form into the car. He sat down parallel to me, and turned the car on, pulling slowly away from the school.

"Left," I instructed, before he could ask. He nodded, and took a left. The rest of the short drive progressed in the same fashion: him driving silently, and me supplying directions when needed. When he pulled into my driveway, I moved to unbuckle myself, but he rushed from the car, opened my door, and did it for me. Then he scooped me up, and carried me up the steps to the front door.

"Mr. Cullen, really, you don't have to. I'm sure I can make it from here…" He rolled his eyes.

"Bella, stop. You can barely stand on your own two feet." I pulled my key from my pocket, and unlocked the door, at which point he carried me into the front hall. I pointed in the direction of the couch, and he deposited me there moments later. Mr. Cullen left the room, and I could hear him bustling around in the kitchen, and then the hum of the microwave. After about a minute, he retuned with a dose of Tylenol, tissues, and a cup of tea.

"How did you…?" I asked, dumbfounded.

"I know my way around a kitchen," was his only response. He dragged the coffee table closer to me, and draped a nearby blanket over my legs. Then he deposited the tea and tissues on the table, and watched as I ingested the medication. With that, he leaned down, ran his hand over my forehead, and made to leave.

"Feel better, Bella." He said softly as he left. I could only stare.


End file.
